He said, didn't he? He said he was going to pay for this. He knew it, five minutes ago, twenty, yesterday, when this plan got cooked up. How they'd wait for the weekend night, when the place was likely to be at its busiest. How they'd pair off. Launching jokes at each other, and taking them from Chin and Kono and Lou about what was likely to go down, whether either of them even knew how to flirt anymore, or make it look good.
Well, they do. Steve does. Makes it look real, makes it feel real, and he's good enough at it he managed to fool that unshakeable, implacable certainty Danny's been living on for the last few years.
That it could never happen. That Steve would never. Not even to catch a crook.
Up until a minute ago, Danny might have thought -- since it was never going to happen, and therefore the thought was harmless -- that a fake kiss would be better than nothing. That he would give anything just for one. Just to know what it would be like, to torture himself more with intimate knowledge of what he can't have, of being able to picture it, remember it, live it over and over again.
A minute ago, he was an idiot.
This is so much worse, and it's only going to go further south. Steve's hand on his wrist, tugging, and Steve's smug smirk, that's just a gloss, along with those words, that Danny's sure he knows the real meaning of. That didn't feel like it means that was too much, that the smirk is there, plastered on, but not solidly enough to hide the way Steve's face went blank and distant. The way it does when he's boxing something up, shoving it away, into the shadows. Something to never think about again. Something to willfully forget.
He fucked up. But there's no time and no way to apologize, until this is done, because Steve's dragging him through the room, heading for that back door, and Danny's supposed to be looking pleased with himself and more than a little turned on.
Needs to put on a show. Make sure that wasn't for nothing, that when Steve confronts him about it later, it will have turned out to be worth it.
He catches a glimpse of the mark, but doesn't allow his eyes to settle, just laughs and lets Steve tug him, like Danny's allowing it, like it's part of the game, until they're at that door and he gives the man next to it an impatient nod, breaks his wrist out of Steve's grip to push lightly at the center of his back. "This better be worth the fact I didn't get to have my drink."
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He said, didn't he? He said he was going to pay for this. He knew it, five minutes ago, twenty, yesterday, when this plan got cooked up. How they'd wait for the weekend night, when the place was likely to be at its busiest. How they'd pair off. Launching jokes at each other, and taking them from Chin and Kono and Lou about what was likely to go down, whether either of them even knew how to flirt anymore, or make it look good.
Well, they do. Steve does. Makes it look real, makes it feel real, and he's good enough at it he managed to fool that unshakeable, implacable certainty Danny's been living on for the last few years.
That it could never happen. That Steve would never. Not even to catch a crook.
Up until a minute ago, Danny might have thought -- since it was never going to happen, and therefore the thought was harmless -- that a fake kiss would be better than nothing. That he would give anything just for one. Just to know what it would be like, to torture himself more with intimate knowledge of what he can't have, of being able to picture it, remember it, live it over and over again.
A minute ago, he was an idiot.
This is so much worse, and it's only going to go further south. Steve's hand on his wrist, tugging, and Steve's smug smirk, that's just a gloss, along with those words, that Danny's sure he knows the real meaning of. That didn't feel like it means that was too much, that the smirk is there, plastered on, but not solidly enough to hide the way Steve's face went blank and distant. The way it does when he's boxing something up, shoving it away, into the shadows. Something to never think about again. Something to willfully forget.
He fucked up. But there's no time and no way to apologize, until this is done, because Steve's dragging him through the room, heading for that back door, and Danny's supposed to be looking pleased with himself and more than a little turned on.
Needs to put on a show. Make sure that wasn't for nothing, that when Steve confronts him about it later, it will have turned out to be worth it.
He catches a glimpse of the mark, but doesn't allow his eyes to settle, just laughs and lets Steve tug him, like Danny's allowing it, like it's part of the game, until they're at that door and he gives the man next to it an impatient nod, breaks his wrist out of Steve's grip to push lightly at the center of his back. "This better be worth the fact I didn't get to have my drink."